


The Toaster that fell into the talking cows that the cross eyed cowboys found?  Er...Yeah.

by AwatereJones



Series: Mish Mash Menagerie [27]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: A Sentient Toaster?, Cowboys, Cross-eyes ones, Happy Birthday, Humor, M/M, Owen searched for the talking cow, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwatereJones/pseuds/AwatereJones
Summary: My dear friend is suffering a birthday and made this demand on Facebook ... Tomorrow is my birthday and something scantily clad or a story with a talking cow, a cross-eyed cowboy and a sentient toaster. THIS IS SMUT OK? Happy Birthday Witchy PooThis was ALL her fault.





	The Toaster that fell into the talking cows that the cross eyed cowboys found?  Er...Yeah.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redro32244](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redro32244/gifts).



**Straw and …hey there.**

A barn at night had always held a certain kind of peace for Jack.

He imagined that the serenity and well-being he felt sitting here on a bale of hay was what some people found kneeling in the pew of a church. The world seemed smaller, simpler, out here alone, listening to the soft noises of the horses, punctuated by the occasional snort or hoof ringing against the stall door.

It took him back to another time, before things got so….busy.

Jack lay back against the bales, stretching out. He'd thrown a blanket over them, but he could still feel the prickle of hay poking his back. A single light was still on, and high above him, he could still make out the rafters cocooned in a century's worth of spider webs, so thick they looked like some kind of macabre cotton candy.

He'd been on ranches once upon a time. Pre-Torchwood of course and he realised he missed the county life.

Jack wished he could remain here, in the small straightforward peace of the ranch, until his body withered and joined the thick layer of dust that covered every surface in the barn.

The ship that had sent a mayday briefly before winking out of existence on Tosh's screen had drawn Jack to the town of Pen-y-Lan in the first place.

Owen had seemed certain one of the cows in the field was an alien about to speak and had addressed each one calmly, "Do you come in peace, or with rib sauce."

They found the small craft sunken in a loc and the team was angrily forced to wade through water in search of the inhabitant, a small metal cased alien called a Dorcht. It was the shape of a toaster, looked a bit like one I guess and Owen had stood holding the tail like it was the electrical cord ranting for a good ten minutes that all he had found was a fucking toaster before Jack had finally turned and seen the dead alien in his hand.

He dropped it quick smart once Jack pointed out that toasters don't have bum holes and Owen had looked at the small anus under the tail.

Then the storm had hit and Jack had headed for the nearest homestead. When nature's force was as wild and all-reaching as it was here, there was no room for thought beyond what was directly in front of him.

His team were in the homestead with the family, going through the farce of pretending they were University students out to watch the Aurora Borealis when caught by the weather. Jack just couldn't be bothered, not when there was an authentic barn to be in.

It felt like home.

Things had started to become complicated recently and Jack needed the stillness and solitude of his late nights at the Hub more than ever.

During the day, he was too busy, too present, to dwell much on his thoughts. The Hub was the only space where he allowed himself to examine the jumbled mess of thought and feeling lurking deep in the sediment of his mind.

A familiar noise—the low rattle of the barn door rolling open, like distant thunder. Jack sat up, surprised only by the fact that he wasn't surprised at all.

He couldn't—or, more accurately, wouldn't—dismiss the electric ripple of feeling that zipped through him. Dismay. Apprehension. Curiosity.

Longing.

"Ianto," Jack said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Ianto said nothing, but he didn't seem surprised to see Jack there.

Jack knew, then—or hoped—that Ianto had come not to find solitude, but to find _him_.

The thought elated and terrified him.

For a quiet moment, they regarded each other. Ianto's expression was strange, and he gave off a flighty, unsettled energy, like a horse wild-eyed as the wind of a storm picked up.

"What are you doing here?" Jack said, praying as he spoke that his voice would be steady.

It wasn't.

Ianto didn't answer. His eyes roved over Jack like he was searching for some answer. Though the light of the barn was dim, spotty, the intensity of his stare felt like a searchlight.

Ianto had every right to be in the barn—it wasn't like Jack had exclusive ownership over the space once the Andersons and rest of the team had retired for the night—but his presence here was disturbing, sending a thrum of energy through Jack's sanctuary.

"You should go back to bed," Jack said. "It's late."

He tried to make his voice tough, authoritative, the way he'd direct one of the other team members.

It didn't work.

And then, that flighty, uneasy look disappeared, and there was the Ianto that Jack knew—defiant and haughty and fierce in the way only a Welshman can be.

"I want you to fuck me," he said.

The first time Jack had seen Ianto, the boy looked a bit like a cat who'd been dragged out of a storm drain.

There in the dark of Bute Park with that branch in his hand and that necklace glinting in the moonlight.

Jack had never seen someone so out of place. And the harsh, terrified look in the kid's eye must have been the exact same expression Jack had worn when he first turned up in London those years ago.

Jack squared his shoulders and pursed his lips.

Owen would be thrilled if he smelt Ianto out here, his jibes proven.

"I want you to fuck me."

"Go to bed, Ianto," Jack said. He hoped it was dark enough that Ianto couldn't see Jack's hands shaking. Ianto had made his attraction to

Jack clear from the start, but he'd never been this… direct.

And Jack had made it clear nothing was going to happen. And he'd made sure to never let on that each time, his resolve eroded a little more.

Ianto was clutching something in his hand. He glared at Jack.

"I know you want to," he said, taking a step towards Jack.

"You don't know that," Jack said, and his tongue felt sluggish, uncooperative. "And I don't."

"You do," Ianto said, stepping closer again. He was so close now that if Jack wanted, he could reach out and trail his fingers across Ianto's narrow chest, trace the sharp line of his jaw.

Jack's breathing was ragged. He tried to remind himself about how inappropriate it would be, but the logical part of his brain had short-circuited.

Ianto reached out, and Jack inhaled sharply, thinking Ianto was reaching for his thigh, but instead, Ianto set something down on the blanket beside Jack.

Jack looked down.

The gold foil of the condom packet gleamed dully in the light.

He sprung up off the bale in a very undignified way, putting a few feet of distance between the two of them. Ianto watched him, that same harsh, defiant look in his eye, as if he could will Jack into fucking him by glaring.

"Ianto," Jack said. He wanted it to be a warning, a rebuke, a period on the winding, run on sentence of the past few months.

It came out as a plea.

Jack stood helplessly, rooted to the dusty cement of the barn, as slowly—so, so slowly—Ianto began to remove his clothing.

He kicked off his shoes and socks with surprising grace and pulled his shirt up and off, the slender muscles of his torso flexing subtly with the movement. But before Jack could even take in the details—delicate bridge of collarbone, the soft feathering of hair below the navel—Ianto, in one smooth motion, stepped out of his pants and was standing there naked.

Distantly, Jack registered the sound of a strangled, drawn out moan, and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from himself. He should have averted his eyes, wanted to want to, but instead he stared.

Ianto was beautiful, glorious, utterly perfect. Standing there before Jack, Ianto wore that haughty, almost regal expression that made him look both so young and so ageless. Shoulders back, chin thrown high, he looked Jack directly in the eye, and Jack felt himself come completely undone.

"I need to be fucked," Ianto said. "And I want you to do it."

Though his voice was low it seemed deafening, reaching every corner of Jack's mind, ringing him like a bell. Ianto's flightiness, the defiance had given way to something else—supreme confidence radiating from him, a God stepped from the pages of a myth.

Standing up had been a bad idea—there was no way Jack could hide how hard he was. He could walk out right now, could go back to his room in the ranch house, stand in the cold brutal spray of the shower until his body submitted.

Or maybe he couldn't—Ianto's gaze, imperious and penetrating and irresistible, had Jack powerless.

Ianto turned around and Jack bit back a groan as his eyes, unbidden, swept down the planes of his back, along the delicate ridges of his spine, the dimples of his low back and the beautiful curve of his arse.

Ianto looked back over his shoulder at Jack, his expression beautiful and arrogant and challenging.

"I think about you all the time, you know," Ianto said. The bales were stacked to waist height, and he reached out towards the blanket where Jack had been sitting just moments before to grab something.

Jack realized it was a small bottle of lube, which sent a strange frisson through him at the thought that this was not just a hormone induced whim—Ianto had planned this.

Jack's brain seemed a few steps behind reality, like he was wading through waist-deep water again, as he watched Ianto click the bottle open and slick his fingers. Ianto's movements were steady, efficient, the practiced grace of a surgeon prepping for an operation.

Ianto braced one hand against a bale, still looking over his shoulder at

Jack. Ianto's expression was suddenly neutral, almost bored, as he slid his hand over his hip to the cleft of his arse.

"The first time I saw you without a shirt," Ianto said, and his voice was even and conversational, like he was discussing weekend plans. "That one really wet day a few months ago. You changed shirts while laughing in the middle of the Hub. I got so hard just watching you I had to go into the loo and jerk off."

Jack blinked as Ianto showed that cool, easy grace, as he stepped his feet apart and lazily began to trace a finger over his hole. Ianto's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his lips, smooth and pink and perfect, parting slightly with a small sigh.

Jack swallowed hard again.

He felt like his knees might give way at any moment—but _oh god_ , the thought of kneeling before this beautiful creature—

"You want me," Ianto said again, as if he was trying to hypnotize Jack.

Jack didn't try to deny it—what point was there in telling such an obvious lie?

And then Ianto slid his finger inside himself, and the small, broken moan he made was almost too much to bear. Jack felt a flash of… _something_ he couldn't quite identify, some middle ground between anger and disbelief and _want_ that this person had rendered Jack so completely transfixed.

Ianto's eyes fluttered open, and he locked eyes with Jack, that clear

blue gaze sending lightning rippling down Jack's spine straight to his cock. Ianto worked his finger deeper inside himself, eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

Jack let out a noise that could only be described as a growl.

"What are you doing, Ianto?" he demanded, his voice raspy.

"Fucking myself," Ianto said, almost sweetly. "Since you won't do it for me."

Before he could stop himself, Jack had closed the distance between the two of them, and then his hands were on Ianto, pulling him close — and once Jack started, he couldn't seem to stop himself, his hands roving possessively over Ianto, grinding his own aching cock against Ianto's arse as he buried his face into Ianto's neck.

Ianto moaned loudly, leaning back against Jack, sliding his finger out and flipping his hand to palm Jack's cock.

"Is this what you wanted?" Jack said into Ianto's neck, sliding his hand down to Ianto's cock and gripping it hard. Ianto cried out, a needy, desperate sound that was at odds with the almost-predatory look he'd given Jack just a moment ago.

"Yes," Ianto gasped. "Fuck me."

He fumbled at the waistband of Jack's pants, and at this angle it was less of an attempt and more of a demand: get undressed.

And who was Jack to deny him?

From this angle, though, Jack could only drag his teeth up the side of Ianto's neck, along the sharp corner of his jaw, and suddenly this wasn't enough. He spun Ianto around and then their mouths were locked together, Ianto pressing up against him, his grip on Jack hard and demanding, digging his fingers into Jack's waist.

It was unlike any kiss Jack had ever experienced—he'd never felt so much desire, so much longing, from a partner. And the dam Jack had spent months building, carefully constructed walls of denial and avoidance since Lisa, came crashing down, and he let himself return the kiss in full force.

Jack shoved his pants and underwear down—no grace, only urgency —and grabbed Ianto by the hips, lifting Ianto easily so he was sitting on the blanket-covered bale. Ianto immediately hooked his legs around Jack's waist, pulling him in even closer.

"Fuck yeah," Ianto breathed into Jack's neck, the hot rush of air sending pleasant prickles down Jack's spine as their bodies pressed together. Ianto tugged Jack's shirt up, and Jack quickly discarded it, removing the last layer of clothing separating them.

Ianto kept his legs firmly locked around Jack, but Jack reached to the side to grab the condom packet, and his hands were shaking with desire so badly he could barely open it. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd gotten laid—there was no way he was going to last very long.

Once the condom was in place, Jack glanced up and froze at the look on Ianto's face. Ianto's face was flushed, his pupils blown wide, but he was biting his lip and his expression was almost apprehensive.

"What?" Jack said, frowning. It was hard to be coherent considering there was very little blood left in his brain.

"Nothing," Ianto said breathlessly. "You're just—bigger than I expected."

Jack snorted and Ianto bit his lip.

"Just—go slow," Ianto said. "I, uh—I've never done this before."

It was a strange sensation—Jack felt as if he'd been doused in cold water, and yet his cock hadn't seemed to have gotten the memo.

" _What?_ " Jack said, his voice strangled, trying to pull back, but Ianto's legs were suddenly a vice grip around him.

"Please fuck me," Ianto said. " _Please_."

And then Jack understood—the confidence, that fiery imperious expression had been an act. A convincing one, but an act nonetheless.

Jack was still holding his own cock, and Ianto, who'd been leaning back, sat up. "Ianto, I can't—"

"Jack," Ianto said, throwing his arms around Jack's neck and pressing their bodies together. Their cocks ground together and Jack couldn't stop himself from gasping.

Ianto threaded his fingers through Jack's hair, keeping their heads close.

"Please, Jack," Ianto said again. "You're the first person I've trusted enough to—y'know."

And of all things, it was these words that sent a throb through Jack's cock that radiated across his whole body.

He trusts him, after everything that has happened between them.

"Okay," Jack said, shakily, and Ianto's smile was blinding. Jack was suddenly overwhelmed—not just by the physical sensation of Ianto taking Jack's cock in hand, but by something far deeper, far more terrifying.

A messy jumble of emotions—exasperation, admiration, adoration—for this incredible, mercurial kid who had tumbled into his life.

"Wait," said Jack. Ianto had been clumsily trying to guide Jack's cock to his entrance, but if this was Ianto's first time, they'd need to go slower. Ianto opened his mouth to protest, but Jack leaned forward, catching him in a gentle kiss.

"Lay back," Jack whispered, and Ianto frowned at him but allowed Jack to guide him so he was laying across the bale, propped up on his elbows, his legs still clinging to Jack as if Jack might sprint away at any chance.

How could Ianto know, though, that he'd had Jack, tethered and bound to him, almost since the day he met? Jack would barely admit it to himself.

"We gotta go a little slower," Jack said, half to himself and half to Ianto. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Ianto nodded and relaxed slightly, seemingly convinced that Jack wouldn't vanish.

Jack grabbed the bottle of lube and slicked his hand. His first time—years and years ago—had been furtive and fumbling, and not particularly pleasant with John.

He wanted it to be better for Ianto.

Jack ran his hand across Ianto's torso, enjoying how his lightly defined muscles twitched under Jack's touch. He stroked his own cock a few times as he trailed his fingers up Ianto's shaft, hot and smooth to the touch, and ran his thumb across the tip, through the bead of pre-cum collecting there. Ianto shuddered.

Jack traced his fingers back down, stopping for a moment to roll Ianto's balls in his hand—in part, he was trying to get Ianto to relax a bit more, but part of his exploration was purely for his own enjoyment, to see what sounds and movements and expressions Jack could tease out of him.

Moving his hand lower now, Jack stroked his fingers over Ianto's hole a few times. Ianto threw his head back and began to buck his hips towards Jack in encouragement, until at last Jack pressed two fingers in.

"Ah, fuck," Ianto said, gasping. "That's good."

Jack steadied his cock in one hand as he began to work deeper into Ianto, and the sight of his fingers disappearing into Ianto's body, hungry and demanding, the high flush across his cheeks, Ianto's hands scrabbling at the hay as they moved together, was almost enough to send Jack over the edge.

"God, you're beautiful," Jack mumbled before he could stop himself.

A distant part of himself … the one not reeling from arousal …felt a fizzle of embarrassment. He'd never been much for talking pretty, in bed or out, but with Ianto he couldn't help it.

Ianto, naked and needy and fucking back onto Jack's hand, was the most incredible thing Jack had ever seen.

"I'm ready," Ianto gasped. Jack figured this was true, and he also couldn't wait any longer—if he tried to hold out, he'd end up coming in his own hand.

Jack slid his fingers out and lined himself up. Jack locked eyes with Ianto, wide and wild and the blue of the first clear sky after rain, and he slowly slide his cock inside.

The feeling of Ianto, hot and slick and impossibly tight around him, made Jack's eyes flutter shut, and he let out a long, hoarse groan. He forced himself to go to slow, though his body was screaming out for more, and when he was fully inside, Jack opened his eyes again.

"Okay?" he asked Ianto, whose narrow chest was heaving.

"Yeah," Ianto nodded, biting his lip. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "It's just… a lot."

"Try to relax," Jack said, running his hand up to Ianto's chest, circling his thumb lightly over Ianto's nipple, brown and peaked. Ianto shuddered again, smiling at the sensation. Ianto laid all the way back on the blanket and Jack could feel Ianto's body relax slightly around his cock.

"Ready?"

"Ready," said Ianto.

Jack gripped Ianto's thighs and slowly began to rock his hips, thrusting his cock in and out. It was hard to pace himself …he kept reminding himself to go slowly, to be gentle, that he wanted to make this so good and so sweet for Ianto.

But soon it was Ianto who was pushing the pace. Jack hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes, so focused on trying to control his movements, but suddenly Ianto was rocking his hips to meet Jack's thrusts.

And when Jack opened his eyes, he moaned loudly—Ianto's head was thrown back again, exposing the smooth column of his neck, his hands clutching desperately at the hay, body laying wantonly across the hay bale.

He looked _euphoric_.

"More," Ianto gasped, and any trace of hesitation had disappeared.

Jack didn't hold back now. Jack fucked Ianto harder, and it still didn't seem to be enough—Ianto was begging and moaning now, gasping the most delicious, incoherent words Jack had ever heard.

Welsh.

Jack dug his fingers into Ianto's hips, lifting him up a little more and slammed in deeper. Ianto let out a cry so loud it could have been heard in London, and Jack knew he'd found the right angle.

Jack wasn't going to last for much longer, but he wanted to get Ianto there first. Ianto was still laying back, hands clawing at the hay. Without breaking the rhythm, Jack reached one hand for the lube so he could stroke Ianto's neglected cock, but then suddenly Ianto's whole body was tightening up—

" _Fuck_ —" Ianto gasped. "I'm gonna—I'm—I'm coming—"

And he was, his back arching, making the most amazing noises, clenching tightly around Jack's cock, as Ianto came and came and came across his own chest.

There was no way Jack could hold himself back watching a display like that, and suddenly his body had taken over, driving into Ianto as deep and hard as he could as he was pulled under the waves by the orgasm that rolled through his whole body.

When he came back to himself, Jack realized he was leaning over Ianto, panting. Ianto had an exhausted, self-satisfied smile on as he pushed his damp hair out of his face.

"Watching you come that hard inside me," Ianto said, "was like, the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"That was pretty manipulative, Ianto," he said, and Ianto suddenly lowered his head slightly, looking ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he said, with uncharacteristic humility. "I—I didn't think you'd sleep with me if you knew it was my first time."

"First time and _last_ ," Jack said. "This isn't happening again."

Ianto stood up, hands on his hips, with that same cocky, smug look he'd had earlier.

"We both know that's not true," Ianto said, closing the distance between them and kissing Jack lightly before Jack could pull away. "You know I am not the only one who went cross-eyed there Cariad."

Jack hated that he was right.

John would have called him eye-candy but Jack knew he had just tasted soul food.

He was pure addiction.


End file.
